As I celebrate, can't help but think about my Dad

When I was a child, the carnival would come to town. It was a night of magical sounds and colorful lights. My Mom and Dad would take us to this big event on a summer night. All we had to do was walk up the street from the apartments where we lived in Glen Ellyn. It was a huge treat! It was a big deal! My favorite ride was the Tilt-A-Whirl.

Publishing my first book is much like a night at the carnival. I have been looking forward to this day, the official "day" when 100 Sounds to See is a real book. What an exciting day this is!

But can I be honest? What I am really feeling is a tremendous longing for my Dad. My Dad was a gifted man. He was a writer, a singer and community theatre actor. He never ran any companies, or made much money. He lost his scarf and gloves every winter and his car was always a mess. But, he was the perfect father, the perfect protector. He gave me everything I ever needed in this world to be ok.

He made me laugh at his bad jokes and took me to the ball park to watch the Cubs. He shared with me his love of hockey and football and taught me how to skip a rock. He couldn't watch a sad movie and brought my Mother coffee in bed every day of their marriage.

God, I miss him. It has been almost twenty years and I sit here and sob as I write about my Daddy. He would have loved seeing me become an author. If I have any talent at this, it is certainly from Tracy Engle. He was a guy that could write a jingle on command and a poem for any occasion.

So, this day...for me, it is all about you Dad. You always made me believe I could do anything and now I am doing the one thing that I always admired so in you...writing. Now, in your memory, I will stop the tears and start the celebrating! Just like those summer nights so long ago at the Carnival, a huge treat and a big deal!

(image copyright William Huber)

Why wasn't I bullied as a child?

I have often wondered why I had it so easy with my disability growing up. I could have been the perfect victim. My first hearing aid was actually an amplifier that I wore in the class. I remember sitting there with this giant headset on my head and the kids thought it was so cool. I would pretend that the giant box and head set gave me special powers to communicate with martians. The kids were very impressed.

Then I wore a hearing aid that had wires running down into a little box. My mother made pockets to match my dress. The only problem was the box would slip out of the pocket when I was jumping rope with my friends on the playground. My first behind the ear aid solved that issue. It also was less noticeable.

Is that why I wasn't a victim? Is it because kids might not have known? I think it was my neighborhood that saved me. Yes, it was Apache Lane, where all the children played and loved each other unconditionally. All I had to do was walk out the door and they were there for instant fun. No one seemed to care that my hearing was bad, because I could do a fabulous cartwheel and had a great imagination for when we played ghost in the dark.

We would play hide behind the bushes on summer nights. The game was simply to scoot along the bases of the bushes without being seen by the kid at the top. It was great fun! Pioneers meant dressing up in old cast offs and following our leader, Ronda down the street. If I remember correctly, I was the one who played the part of the expectant mother, giving birth in the wagon on the prairie. This was because I could cry on command.

The years passed and we graduated to shopping together at sidewalk sales and posing together for homecoming pictures. It was a true village where the mothers cared about all of us and the kids were a strong pack. They were more than just my neighbors, they were my protectors.

The years have passed. We all have our own children now and live in different neighborhoods. Thank God I had Apache Lane for my childhood, a place where a disability was a non-issue. My neighborhood kid friends loved me and I loved them. They gave me that sense of acceptance that was enough to last a lifetime.

We didn't have big houses or fancy cars, but what we had was the most important thing of all...neighbors where the doors were always open and love was unconditional. A place where a child could be different and it just didn't matter.

It is so hard for so many children these days, struggling for acceptance, battling depression and often victims of mean behavior. What this world needs is more Apache Lanes to protect and nurture our kids.

My mom still lives in the same house on Apache Lane and when I go to visit her, I tell her that "this place will always feel like home."

The book is here!

What do you want to be when you grow up? I thought about this on my flight down to

HCI Publishing in Deerfield Beach, Florida. My career was in new products. I can't even count the number of shampoos, conditioners, skin care products, hair color, fixatives, hair spray...literally hundreds of products in my twenty year marketing career I have launched.

I was never bored a minute, I loved my job. I loved the thrill of a new idea, the teamwork, the plans, I loved it all. And then it was over. Yes, the career that turned into a wonderful consulting business, just wasn't going to be a part of my life anymore. Sometimes disabilities can throw a wrench into our lives. My career required listening to phone calls, meetings, focus groups and it was just getting hard. I was missing so much and I knew it. I couldn't be at the top of my game when I couldn't hear.

So, the question, "what do I want to be when I grow up?" How many times in our lives do we get to reinvent ourselves? Sometimes we dream, but for me, it wasn't going to be a dream. It was going to be necessary.

I always wanted to be a writer. I've been writing journals, letters to my daughter, for years. Now, was my chance, to be a real writer. And on that trip down to Florida, I realized, I was not only a writer, I was now a published author.

Thank you to my husband, Mark. Although you never said it, you knew that my heart was breaking when I had to let go of what was and create a new career. I will always be grateful to your guidance, your critique of ideas and your belief that I could do it....and now I have.

100 Sounds to See is a book that I can hold in my hands.

The lesson for me was sometimes when one door closes, another one will open.

The sounds of my Grandmother's kitchen

Being the city girl I am, many people are surprised to find out that my real roots are on a small farm in North Carolina. Every summer, my family would drive to Watha, to visit my grandparents at "the farm".

My favorite room in the house was the kitchen. It wasn't a big kitchen, no dishwasher, no counter space or fancy appliances. Just a drop leaf kitchen farm table and maple cabinets that went clear to the ceiling. What amazing meals would come out of that hard working kitchen! Cooking is part of living in the south. On the stove, the cast iron skillet got heavy use. In my grandmother's kitchen, the sounds competed with the wonderful smells. Ever hear country ham sizzling? There was a little toaster oven that made slices of bread turn crispy, golden brown. There was the sound of my grandmother stirring dough in the big wooden bowl. I can still see her hands forming those mouth watering biscuits.

There was a big kitchen sink and an oversized faucet that would send steaming water splashing into the dishpan. Outside the kitchen window, you could see wide open fields, with livestock grazing. God, it was beautiful.

About the meals. Back in the early forties, when they farmed tobacco, they had many workers in the field. Part of the "pay" for the men was a big mid-day meal. Dinner was served when the sun was at its peak. The men would sit down to a huge meal that my grandmother prepared. Country ham, biscuits, succotash and sweetened ice tea. Times were tough and this might be the only real food that some of the workers would have to eat. As was customary at the time, she would set two tables, one for the white men and one for the african american men.

Until one day. My grandmother announced to all the men, "I will be setting one table, you will all eat together." Rural North Carolina was very segregated at the time. This was just not done. I can only imagine the reaction from the men. But, if you knew Mary Davis, you knew she meant it. So, the choice, was sit together or go hungry. I'm sure the smell of that country ham won out over any reservations.

Perhaps you have famous people in your family that have accomplishments that make you very proud? Of all the folks in my lineage, no one will ever make me prouder than my grandmother who stood up to segregation, long before anyone had permission to do so. I'm so proud of her.

Little did she know, that in that small country kitchen, she would start a revolution. My only regret, is that I never told her how much I admire her. I can only hope that she is up in heaven...listening to me now.

The sounds of NYC

I lived in NYC on the upper east side many years ago. I had a tiny apartment with a terrace (gasp) and the entire thing was 500 square feet. It was charming and cozy. Tiny, tiny, tiny. I did not turn on the stove the entire time I lived there. My refrigerator would hold a carton of milk and leftovers from carry out.

Every day I would walk to my office at Clairol/Bristol Meyers at 345 Park Avenue. I lived at 60th and 3rd and my office was at 50th and Park. I loved those walks. So much to see...but the noise! At the time, NYC did not have an ordinance against honking. HONK! The noise was so annoying. HONK! Every time the traffic slowed, the cars would lay on their horns. HONK!

My favorite time of day was Sunday morning at 7am. The city that doesn't sleep, sleeps in on Sunday morning. Yes, a well kept secret, NYC is quiet on Sunday morning. I would pull on a jacket and make my way to the corner to buy the Times. I remember being able to hear the sounds of the businesses sliding open the iron bars that protected their stores. I loved to hear the different languages that the business owners would speak as they greeted their neighbors at the start of the day. I could hear my heels click on the pavement. The swish of the air as it came up from the sidewalk grates. So ordinary, but true New York sounds.

For me, it was a relief. After a week of walking through so much HONKing, the solitude was wonderful...and memorable. When we take the time to notice sounds, we not only hear the sounds, but we seal the memory of a time and place in our memory vault.

My life, so different now. I spend Sunday mornings reading the Chicago Tribune with my husband and the cup of coffee comes out of the carafe in my kitchen (where I do use the stove often). But, I can look back on those days and remember those details because I treasured the rare quiet of an ordinary morning in NYC.

On vacation, we bought my father-in-law a laptop. Our goal was to get him hooked up with Facebook. He spends many hours alone, caring for my mother-in-law who is now bedridden. Long days pass and he is there by her side. We are concerned, because he is withdrawing, sort of pulling away from life.

Our goal was to teach him about Facebook. For me, Facebook has been fantastic. I can't have detailed phone conversations any longer, so a visit to my FB page brings me up to speed with so many people...no hearing required! The sense of connection to my world, my family, my friends, it brings me such joy. I know it can be a "huge waste of time" as Betty White noted, but it is the idle conversations I miss so much. And I know that my Dad-in-law, Ed, does, too.

We got his page up and running, thanks to our in house FB expert, daughter Gracie. Now, he has "friend requests" pouring in. As he sits in the house by himself, he really isn't alone anymore. When we are far away, I have a way of reaching him, even if it is just a few lines. I can tell him that I adore him, that I miss him.

His profile picture has a big smile, that sort of said it all. It really is remarkable, this thing called Facebook. Waste of time? Sure, but for Ed, it will be a lifeline. Just like that day, many years ago, holding hands with granddaughter Gracie...we all need to be in touch, we need to have a sense of connection to people that love us. So, thank you Facebook.... I think you are a great use of time!

I would like to tell you about Mr. and Mrs. Hallberg. Even though I am an adult, with a family of my own, they will always be Mr. and Mrs. I wish there was a better title that would give them more importance.

I love the Hallberg family so much. But today, in this post, it is all about Mr. Hallberg.

Where do I start? Perhaps this will explain my relationship the most. He sat next to me the night we buried my Dad and made me feel safe. He was my father's best friend.

Through the years, I have sat at more family dinners with the Hallbergs than I can count. From the time I was a little girl, it was my second home. We didn't have relatives that lived near, the Hallbergs were our extended family.

Mr. Hallberg is blessed with a beautiful singing voice, a vibrant personality and a spirit that pulls all of us together. His conversation is so interesting, so dynamic. He has a laugh that booms and a smile that warms my heart.

In recent years, he was a bit more subdued. I should have known what was happening. But, I just accepted this change, I loved him no matter what. He wasn't participating in the conversation like he used to, still engaged and interested, but didn't say very much.

Recently, I went to visit the Hallbergs and much of the family was there, too. What a great time we were having as we all sat in the living room. Mr. Hallberg was sitting next to me and pointed to both ears. "Look what I have", he said. Inside his ears were two small hearing aids.

He went on to say "I can hear! I can hear conversations, I can hear the TV, the sounds outside. I was missing so much, I had no idea how much, until I could hear again." My Mr. Hallberg was back and it was all because he was no longer isolated by the lonely quiet that comes with the loss of hearing those you love.

If someone you love is fading a bit, don't blame it on age. Please encourage them to try hearing aids, seek help. Because life is not only about living, it is about listening.

Thanks to Granddaughter Lauren for the beautiful picture!